Moolie: Hey…hey Dan, what are you doing with that dark gun?

Dan: Tranquilizing you three. It's getting far too rowdy in here.

Ginny: Think about what you're doing, Dan…

Aggie: Me first!

…

Chapter Eight: A Horrible Tease

"I really hate Elvish bread. Hate, hate, hate," Sam complained, spraying a mouthful of Lembas crumbs onto the rest of his party.

"That's quite enough, Sam," Frodo snapped. Usually he could take Samwise's whining, but the closer they were getting to Mordor, the more he had been on edge.

Sam sobered up, glancing nervously at his friend. "I'm sorry, Mr. Frodo. I didn't mean to upset you."

"Stupid fat hobbitses. No one to talk to. Sméagol misses Mummy. Hates nasty Elf bread," Gollum groaned. They were seated on a ledge halfway up the crooked stair.

"How have you been taking that, Mr. Frodo?" Sam asked carefully.

"Fine, Sam. I'm fine."

…

"Phew! That was one what killer workout!" Satchel groaned happily. He and Fado trudged into the room, setting their Zumba gear in the corner. "I think I'm gonna lie down for awhile…" Satchel collapsed onto his cot and promptly fell asleep.

Fado cautiously crept over to Satchel's bedside, giving him a good poke to check his state of consciousness. Satchel snored on, unphased. Satisfied, Fado scurried over to her trundle and traded in her exercise clothes for a simple frock. She cracked the door to the room ajar to check if anyone was coming down the corridor. Luckily, the coast was clear. Fado set off down the hall and up the stairs, creeping through a maze of halls and passageways before arriving at the Great Library. She held her breath, backing into the shadows as the royal book keep made his rounds. Fado then pattered past the shelves, scolls, and tomes towards the records of Fangorn history. With shaking hands, she made every effort to be silent as she picked through the literature. She finally settled on a charred work of parchment, coated with a thick layer of dust, retreating under one of the desks to read.

Autumn, Year 3334 of his Majesty, Isildur, king of Minas Tirith. We have continued our negotiations with the Fire Sprite Clans of Fangorn, despite rumors of unrest. Their requests for aid have been shunned by their earthen cousins nearby, so they now turn to the White Citadel for aid. The cause of their plight is unclear, though there seems to have been bouts of madness among several of their smaller villages, causing widespread destruction in that portion of the forest. Earth Sprites have shut their gates for fear of their own safety. We are sending a team of our finest healers, as well as several footmen, to help restore order and find the cause of this madness.

Winter, Year 3334 of his Majesty, Isildur, king of Minas Tirith. These are dark times. The cause of the flaming madness has been found, and it is not a pleasant one. It seems that the creeping darkness from Mordor has reached the safety of Fangorn. Sauron, Lord of the Black Lands and Dark Fire has sought the company of Inferni, flame demons, to harvest the souls of the Fame Sprites. It begins with bouts of rage, before progressing into full possession of the body. The now possessed creatures are then summoned to the Black Lands, where their bodies and souls are fed to the Mountain of Fire to fuel the rage of the Dark Lord. We have withdrawn all contact with the remaining clans for the safety of our men, as we must now look to the creeping darkness at our own borders. May Valor help the remaining Sprites and guide them safely.

Spring, Year 3335 of his Majesty, Esildor, king of Minas Tirith. According to our scouts residing with the Earth Sprites, the raging fires of the Inferni have burnt to dead ash. As of this record, the Flame Sprites are an extinct race, consumed by their own flames. May Valor have mercy on their souls.

Fado slumped against the wall, struggling to breathe. "As of this record, the Flame Sprites are an extinct race." It was confirmed; she was the last of her kind. What's more, it was confirmed that she was possessed. By an Inferni, or whatever it was. She was destined to disintegrate into a demon. Numbly, she refolded the parchment, placing it back on the shelf. Slowly and quietly, Fado made her way back down to the barracks. She crept back into the room, carefully turning to close the door so she wouldn't wake Satchel.

"And just where have you been?"

Fado turned, to see Satchel standing before her, arms crossed in anger. He stalked forward, locking the door before grabbing her forcefully by the shoulders and sitting her down on her bed. He paced before her, seething, finally stopping out of exasperation.

"Well?"

"I was reading." Fado stared numbly at the floor.

"Where?"

"In the library," She replied indignantly.

"And why the hell," Satchel continued, his voice rising in volume. "Did you think that was a good idea? You could have been seen! They would have carted you off to the dungeons in a heartbeat!"

"Well, maybe it'd be better that I was!" Fado shouted back. "I'm doomed to rot sooner or later anyway! Why not put me somewhere where I won't endanger the lives of everyone around me?"

"Can't you see I'm trying to keep you safe, Imoge-" Satchel halted mid sentence, his face darkening. He sank , shaking, onto his cot head in his hands. Fado felt small and frightened, unsure of what to do. She cautiously moved towards him, lightly touching his shoulder.

Fado, confused about what exactly just happened, patted Satchel's back reassuringly. Satchel seemed to calm down a bit.

"Who were you talking to…" Fado asked cautiously.

Satchel took a deep breath. "I had a wife; her name was Kendra," He started in a low voice. "We lived in one of the outlying towns of Gondor. We had a little girl, Imogene. You…you remind me of her." He cast a glance in Fado's direction. "I was out with the town's hunting party getting rations when the raiders came…" He started shaking harder, barely being able to choke out his words. "They burned…e-everything to the ground…I w-wasn't there…why wasn't I there?!" Fado hugged him while he wept silently. He finally straightened, wiping his face. "I became a soldier of Gondor, so that I would have every chance to avenge their deaths that I could. You…you've started to mean a lot to me. I don't know what I would do if they put you away."

They sat together for a while before Fado spoke. "I was trying to find out where I came from, where my people came from," she said hollowly. "They were massacred. All of them driven to madness and sacrificed. I am officially the last of my kind, the ghost of an extinct race. And soon I too will be consumed."

Satchel cradled her like a child. "The Dark Lord has taken both of our families," He said quietly. "But he will not take you. I swear it. We will inform Gandalf tomorrow, he will know what to do."

…

"Alright, run this by me again."

"For the fifth time, Miss Hallbjörnsdóttir, you and Master Took are going to clamber up the tower, sneak to the beacon, and set it aflame," Gandalf explained, rolling his eyes. "It's quite simple, really."

"And do you actually think we're qualified for this job?" Nora asked.

"Well you won't see me doing it. Bad back and all. Besides, I might chip a nail." Gandalf examined his perfectly-manicured cuticles with wonder.

"You can count on me, Gandalf!" Pippin exclaimed, straightening his vest excitedly.

"Yes, well," he muttered as they approached the first level of the tower. "Get climbing, kids."

Nora and Pippin looked at each other, confused.

"Ladies first, I suppose," Pippin coaxed. Nora frowned. "I'll be right behind you, I promise."

Nora nodded and paused. "Wait." She suddenly whipped out her battle axe and tossed it to Gandalf, who fell under its sheer weight.

"AH, my rheumatism!" he shouted.

Nora began to climb the first level of the tower, clumsily at first but soon getting the hang of it. Pippin soon followed. Ten minutes later, they were a good two-thirds up the cliff face. Pippin, curious to see how long they had to go, glanced upwards. Fortunately for him, Nora's garb of choice that day happened to be a simple tunic with nothing but a rather tight pair of stockings underneath.

Pippin swallowed, trying to ignore the sudden restrained mobility of his pants, and continued to climb with his head down.

Nora poked her head above the ledge as they reached the top. The guards were enjoying their lunch break. Nora quickly beckoned for Pippin to climb beside her. Together, they crept up the back of the beckon. As quickly as she could, Nora reached upwards and tipped over the basin of oil. Pippin then grabbed the torch and threw it down. The two of them grinned stupidly for a moment at their work before they realized they were standing on a burning platform.

Nora began the climb back down, but before she could barely get started, her stockings got caught on the jagged wood of the pyre. Without thinking, she hurriedly ripped the rest of the stocking away, just barely escaping the flames.

"Pippin, you go down first!" she yelled over the fire as she struggled to remove the rest of the stockings from her legs.

"No," Pippin replied bluntly, knowing what would come out of this. Either Nora was more of an idiot than he was or she was a horrible tease.

Nora didn't argue and quickly began climbing down, Pippin close above her. They made it down in half the time it took to go up. Gandalf, who had just finished his pipe and daily crossword, greeted them with an amiable smile. "Well done, you two! Anyone up for lunch?"

…

It was a bright, sunny day in Rohan. Perfect for tanning. Aragorn, fully equipped with his trifold tanning mirror, sun lotion caked unevenly on his face, and cucumbers plastered onto his eyes, was still soaking up the rays by the afternoon.

He suddenly sat up, the cucumbers falling off his face, taking a big portion of the sun lotion with them. He sniffed the air and glanced around the courtyard. "What is that smell?"

"It wasn't me," came Gimli's voice from the lawn chair next to him. Aragorn looked at the dwarf, who had already eaten one of the cucumber slices that had previously protected his eye.

"I know it wasn't you," Aragorn spat as he looked up. "It's coming from the beacon. Egad, Gondor calls for aid!" He jumped up, sheer excitement lighting up his face. He tried to run to the doors of the Great Hall, but his excitement got the better of him and he ended up jogging in place for a good two minutes, repeating, "Oh man, oh man, so excited, oh man…"

Azimah opened the doors of the Great Hall and watched this curiously. "Erm, Aragorn…"

Aragorn stopped and tried to regain composure, smoothing back his hair nonchalantly. "Azimah. The beacon is lit. Our help is needed in Gondor. We finally get to fight again!"

Azimah smiled behind her veil and gave Aragorn a victorious jump/high-five combo. "Yes!"

Legolas strolled in, holding a conversation with Eomer on proper shampoos. Without missing a beat, Aragorn shouted gleefully, "WE'RE GOING BACK TO WAR!"

Eomer and Legolas held hands and jumped in unison, crying, "Huzzah!" There was much rejoicing. Many a high-fives and hugs were exchanged. People in the courtyard who weren't even going to war joined in on the excitement. Eowyn took advantage of the chaos to obtain a lock of Aragorn's hair.

Amid all the hullabaloo, Azimah found herself hugging a certain blonde Elf. She tried to back out quickly, but Legolas's embrace was stronger than expected. Legolas, for his part, wasn't doing this on purpose. The realization that she was again in his arms had temporarily paralyzed him (authors have "shameless cheese" party).

"L-Legolas, you can let go now…"

"Right." Legolas quickly let go. "Sorry."

"C'mere, you old softy," Aragorn exclaimed, tackle-hugging Legolas from behind. Azimah took this opportune moment to slowly creep away.

…

Nora and Pippin trailed behind Gandalf on their way back to Denethor's abode, chattering mindlessly about lunch and their successful escapade. Gandalf, who had blocked out the noise half an hour before, noticed a few snow white elk parked by the king's tree in the courtyard. 'This could be bad,' he thought as he studied the rough metal and leather saddles embossed with traditional Norse symbols.

Nora stopped suddenly in her tracks and stared at the scene before her. She began to back away, but Pippin caught her hand. "What's wrong?"

Nora shook her head, feeling like a little kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar. Gandalf beckoned for them to move onward up the steps.

The three entered the hall, Nora's face drained of what little color there was. Gandalf gave her an encouraging pat on the back. "Stand fast, my dear."

Before them stood Denethor talking to a group of big, rough-looking men decked in furs and blue war paint. The most impressive of the men, a tall, burly blonde man with a magnificently braided beard stranded with silver. The man turned towards the newcomers, immediately locking eyes with Nora.

"Honora Ingar Jacobine Hallbjornsdottir," he boomed, his voice reverberating off the high ceilings.

Nora bent her head in respect. "Father."

…

Aggie: You guys should read and review. Nighty-night.